


The Fugue State ~ by Fairfax

by AngelBookofDaysModerator



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel Book of Days Challenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-03
Updated: 2003-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelBookofDaysModerator/pseuds/AngelBookofDaysModerator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written by Fairfax.  Posted on the author's behalf by the Angle Book of Days Moderator.</p><p>Timeline ~ Spoilers to end of Deep Down, s4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fugue State ~ by Fairfax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firstgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstgold/gifts).



**Prologue: Point Dume**

"This is pointless."

Fred looked up from where she was crouched examining the guardrail and met her boyfriend’s gaze. "Charles, this is the last place Angel came before he disappeared."

"I know, Fred, I know. It’s just…"With a sigh, Gunn smoothed his hand over his head and stared down at the gravel. "I just think we need to start facing facts. Angel and Cordy have been gone for three months. We got no leads, no clues, and very soon we’ll have no money. What do you think goin’ up and down this beach for the tenth time is gonna get us?"

"We just have to keep looking, Charles. A person like Angel doesn’t just disappear without a trace. I’m convinced we’re missing something." Off his skeptical look, she stood up and brushed her hands off against her thighs. "Don’t be that way," she snapped. "If we were the ones missing, Angel would still be looking for us."

Hands up in a gesture of surrender, Gunn backed up a step. "All right. All right. Don’t bite my head off. At least I’m helping out. Unlike some vampire spawn who shall remain nameless."

With a shrug of his shoulder toward the shore, he directed Fred’s gaze down below to the water’s edge where Connor was hurling rocks out into the ocean. She raised her hands to control her hair as the warm night wind blew it into her mouth and eyes. Connor was a dark silhouette against the water, pitching rock after rock. 

"He didn’t want to come back out here, either."

Gunn closed the distance between them and rubbed her back. "I never would have guessed from the way he refused to talk all the way here and then took off away from us as soon as he could."

Leaning into his touch, she said wearily, "He hates this place, is all. Who can blame him? He was finally getting close to Angel and now he’s gone. And we haven’t come close to figuring out what happened to him."

With a sigh, she glanced over to where Gunn had parked the truck. "Let’s take it from the top. Angel’s car was found approximately-here," She moved to a point directly behind the truck and tapped her foot in the dirt. "Assuming he wasn’t attacked immediately when he got out of the vehicle, he probably moved to the observation point, here." Walking past Gunn, she stepped up to the rail and tapped her foot again. She stopped. 

"And then?" Gunn asked quietly.

"And then…I don’t know." She hung her head. "Demon attack? Dimensional portal? Wolfram and Hart? Aliens? I don’t know." Dejected, she shook her head. "You’re right. We’ve got nothing. I guess we should just go home."

He squeezed her hand in sympathy and then let go to cup both around his mouth. "Connor?" He hollered down below to where the young man was standing with his feet in the tide, gazing out to sea. "Yo, c’mon up. We’re leavin’" Connor turned toward them and raised his arm in acknowledgement. 

Watching Connor trudge across the beach, Fred rested her head against Gunn’s arm. A sudden rustling on his other side drew her attention just seconds before a bird burst out of the bush and streaked toward them. Swearing, Gunn jerked away from it and bumped hard against Fred. Unprepared, she was knocked headfirst over the guardrail and fell, rolled, and bounced her way down the steep embankment. 

***

She hit the beach facedown and spent the first few seconds trying to force the wind back into her lungs.

"Fred! Fred, you okay?" Gunn yelled, panicked, from above.

"I’m fine," she wheezed, but it was so quiet she knew there was no way he could hear her. Connor was suddenly at her side.

Concerned, he kneeled over her. "Are you all right?"

"I think so." She tried for a smile, but was breathing so hard she couldn’t maintain it.

Showering dirt and stone, Gunn skidded down the slope and ran to her side. "Damn, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt? Can you stand?"

Feeling stronger, she smiled up at her boyfriend. "I think I’m okay, really. I’m scraped, I’m bruised, and I bet I’ll hurt tomorrow, but it’s not serious." Holding up her hands to them both, she commanded, "Help me up."

Despite duets of "Maybe you shouldn’t move yet." and "Are you sure you’re ready to stand up?" the two men took her hands and pulled her to her feet. 

On shaky legs, she moved toward the slope. "Boy, that was a long fall," she muttered. With her eyes, she followed to trail her descent and then Gunn’s had left behind. At the base of the embankment, near a grouping of rocks they had dislodged, the shine of something plastic caught her eye. 

"What’s that?" Connor asked, and she knew he had seen the same thing. 

The three quickly moved to investigate and found a child’s plastic bucket and shovel half under the rocks. "It’s just a toy," Gunn answered as he bent down to unearth it. "Some kid came here for the day and left it behind." He moved a few more rocks and pulled out a little girl’s swimsuit, shredded and bloodstained. "Or maybe not."

Further digging revealed newspapers, a magazine, cigarette butts, a used-up compact, Coke cans, a man’s button-down shirt with dried blood all over the collar, and other assorted garbage. 

Holding up the shirt to the moonlight, Fred asked nervously, "What did this? Was it a crazy person or some kind of monster?"

"Vampire." Connor answered promptly.

"How do you know that?" Gunn asked, eyebrow raised.

"I can smell her."

Gunn immediately stood up and started looking around. "She’s here?"

Lips curled slightly, Connor replied, "No, relax. The scent’s old. I’d say she’s been gone for over a month." 

"A month?" Fred asked. "Ya’ll look at this." She held up the battered magazine. "Cosmo, from May. And, look," excitement built in her voice as she shuffled through the newspapers. "Here’s one from April 17th and April 3rd….June 12th!" The two men looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Don’t you see? This was her hunting ground, and she was here a lot. If she used it throughout the spring and into early summer, maybe she was here the night Angel disappeared. Maybe she saw what happened. Maybe we could find her and make her tell us."

"Maybe you could just give up already."

"Hey, watch it," Gunn warned the young man, but he was already on his feet.

"Trail’s a month old." Snarling, "Even I can’t find a vampire in Los Angeles with only a month-old trail to go by."

"Connor—"

"No! Angel’s gone. And I’m sick of this." Whirling, Connor took off across the beach toward the path up to the road.

"You know I hate to admit that he’s right, but the boy has a point." Gunn squatted down next to Fred again. "There’s no way to track this vamp-chick down."

Fred stopped sifting through the garbage and leaned back on her heels. "Not unless we know another of her hang-outs." she said, smiling thinly. She held out her hand to Gunn to show him what she’d found: Four empty black matchbooks embossed with _The Fugue State 213-555-3834._

 

**Part I: Enter the Fugue State**

"Are we sure we want to go in there?"

"Hey, this was your idea, Nancy Drew."

The Fugue State didn’t look like much. Identified only by the painted name on the door, The Fugue State was on the ground floor of an otherwise dark building. Heavy curtains blocked the windows, letting only small slivers of light escape onto the street. 

Fred took a deep breath and then wished she hadn’t. Away from the ocean, there was no escaping the scents of summer in the city. The tar and exhaust odor of the pavement, the alleyways which always smelled strongly of cat pee and cooking garbage. The Fugue State was in a part of L.A Fred had never visited before. The whole neighborhood was dark and strangely quiet, only the distant sounds of sirens and the hum of window air-conditioners in the apartments overhead broke the silence.

"I guess we should go on in," she said unenthusiastically.

Stepping up onto the curb, Gunn grunted, "Shoulda brought Connor." 

"No," she disagreed. "You heard him. We can’t keep getting his hopes up and then letting him down. Besides," she paused, letting him open the door for her. "We’re the experienced adults here. I’m sure it will be nothing we can’t handle."

They stood inside the door and surveyed the room, sweat chilling on their skin thanks to the air conditioning. A quick inspection showed a room of people who looked human but probably weren’t and other things that definitely weren’t including an M’Fashnik, a Prio Motu, a booth full of vampires, and a Bentback that smiled and licked its lips when Fred made eye contact. 

Muttering, Gunn tightened his hand around the stake in his pocket. "Oh, yeah. Connor would be no use to us here."

***

"You were right about what you said earlier, Charles," He glanced across the table when she spoke up. "This really is hopeless."

They had spent an hour questioning the other patrons about the identity of the Point Dume vampiress, without success. Each of the seven vampires in the corner admitted to killing people at the beach, and then laughed in their faces. Even when they hadn’t been met with outright hostility, the Demon Language/English barrier had proved too hard to overcome. 

"Well, we did what we could."

"I guess it was a long shot, anyway," Fred sighed, linking her hands over the rim of her glass and resting her chin there.

"What I can’t figure out is why none of these demons has tried to start anything with us yet."

"We should count our blessings," she murmured in reply. "Maybe this place has an anti-violence spell, too."

"Like Caritas?" a smooth voice interjected. "Hardly. I simply demand good manners from my guests. May I sit down?" 

She sat up and turned her gaze to the newcomer. Tall, smartly dressed, and smiling politely, he would have looked like any human in a suit if not for his very sharp teeth. 

"Who the hell are you?

The demon glanced briefly at Gunn, before turning back to Fred. "I’m the owner of this establishment." Sitting down, he spoke directly to Fred. "Have you found what you’re looking for tonight?"

"Um, no," she answered, looking nervously at Gunn. "Some of your clientele doesn’t speak any of the languages I know, and the ones that do won’t help us." He gazed at her steadily. "Maybe you can help us. We’re looking for information about a vampire—a girl vampire—who hunted down at Point Dume until about a month ago."

"Hmm. It sounds like you might be looking for Marissa."

Fred and Gunn exchanged a look before Fred turned back to the owner. Eagerly, she spoke. "Marissa? What can you tell me about her? Has she been in lately?"

Calmly, "Not lately, no. May I ask why you are looking for her?" 

"We’re hoping she witnessed something that happened on her beach at the end of May."

"I see."

After a moment’s continued silence, Gunn spoke up. "Look. We find the girl, she tells us what we need to know and doesn’t attack us, and we let her go. Don’t be worrying that we’re gonna start picking off your regulars." 

The owner nodded, considering. Turning back to Fred, he said, "Perhaps you should ask upstairs." He nodded his head toward the far wall and a lone door marked "Private."

Nervous, she stammered, "W-Who’s upstairs?"

"No one."

"Then what are you talking about?" Gunn snapped.

"Those with questions can often find the answers in The Fugue State, that’s all."

Fred turned around to stare at the door again. "Is it an oracle?"

"No. It’s not an oracle, demon or monster. It’s not anything or anyplace. It just is."

"Well that clears it up." Gunn stood up. "Fred, let’s get out of here. I’ve heard all the bullshit I can stand."

She looked up at him. "Charles, what if this is our only chance to find Marissa? To find Angel?"

Frustrated, he said, "Fred, you can’t really be thinkin’…" He held her eyes for a moment, and sighed. "You really are, aren’t you?" He stood there for a moment and then nodded slightly. "Okay, this is what you want, we’ll do it."

The owner spoke up. "Actually, only one may go. I suggest Fred."

Fred stared at him wide-eyed, while Gunn sputtered a few heated denials.

"Very well, then," the owner conceded. "You may go." He aimed a razor grin in Gunn’s direction. "Fred can stay down here with us."

Sensing that Gunn was two seconds away from throwing her over his shoulder and storming out, Fred quickly interceded "There’s nobody up there?"

"There’s only truth."

"Well, see, Charles. Truth. That can’t be that bad. Truth’s a good thing, right?"

"Do you think so?" asked the owner, head cocked.

 

**Part II: Upstairs**

The door shut behind her and Fred found her self in a painfully bright hallway. Under the buzz and snap of the fluorescents, she passed a plain wood door marked ‘Office’ and another marked ‘Storage.’ At the end of the hall was a third door with ‘Stairs’ stenciled on it with white paint. It looked normal enough, but was surprisingly heavy when she tried to open it. By bracing her foot against the wall and pulling with all her strength, she was finally able to open it far enough to slip into the stairwell. 

The heat was sudden and immense, horrible. Climbing the stairs toward the dimness above was almost unbearable. The closest Fred had ever come to this feeling was when you open the oven door for a peek and the heat hits your face like a slap. But this was a full-body assault, and she knew that if it was this hot at the top, she would have to turn back. Her lungs felt as though they were shriveling. 

Compared to the brightness of the hall and the stairs, the upstairs floor was very dim. She paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She gasped for breath and felt sweat trickle down her temples, under her arms and the insides of her thighs. Her hair and blouse were soaked with sweat, but the heat wasn’t bothering her anymore. Neither were her scrapes and bruises from her earlier fall, or her fear about what she would find in this room, or her fear about what could happen to Gunn in the room below. She felt calm, almost languid. 

Moving toward the center she saw that there was a large maze constructed in the room. Her mind turned this over and over pondering that it was not a nifty hedge maze or cool gothic maze with stone walls. Rather, it was more like a warren of cubicles, like an office from hell. The walls of the cubicles were even the same dark grey fabric she remembered seeing at her Aunt Dottie’s office when she and Momma went to visit her for lunch. 

Contemplating demonic accounting clerks and Satan’s typing pool, she walked absently to the first opening in the wall and walked through. What she saw made her stop abruptly. 

Wesley was screwing Lilah Morgan on the tabletop. Under the table, that red-headed horror, Justine, was lying bound, craning her neck to lap water from a dog’s dish with ‘Dante’ painted on the side. Convinced she shouldn’t be there, Fred began to back toward the door.

Wesley lifted his head and caught her eye. "Ah, Fred. You’re here." Never altering his thrusts, he waved for her to come closer. "There’s something here that will interest you, I imagine." Tangling his hand in Lilah’s hair, he tugged her head back and pressed his mouth to her throat. 

Fred stood awkwardly beside the table, wondering what Wesley wanted her to see. Lifting his head briefly, he gestured with his chin toward the tabletop. She noticed for the first time that the surface was plastered in papers. When Lilah arched up into Wesley, Fred took a peek and verified that they did indeed cover every inch of the table. They looked familiar—all dark blue covered with irregular white circles and numbers. They’re maps, she realized, of the ocean floor.

"Are you treasure hunting, Wesley?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard above Lilah’s moans.

"He hunts like Ahab," Justine burbled from below. "Every night. In the drink."

Wesley lifted Lilah’s hips for a better angle and plunged into her faster. "It’s about depths, Fred," he explained evenly. "You never know what’s underneath the surface."

Fred looked down at Lilah for the first time, and Lilah smiled back sweetly.

She was wearing Fred’s glasses.

Fred got out of there fast.

Darting through the door in which she came, she found herself in a new room rather than the hallway she expected. 

A very lovely black woman sat on a chair in the center of the room. She smiled, showing even, white teeth and so much love and kindness that Fred knew she would have fallen to her knees in worship if she were feeling more like herself. 

It made Fred sad that she wasn’t.

"Hello, Fred," the Goddess said, warmly.

"Hello. What’s your name?"

Chuckling, the Goddess shook her head. "Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?" 

From behind her, a large, greenish demon with a ring through his chin and body armor that seemed to grow right out of his body entered. 

"Hey," he said noticing her.

"Hey."

"Fred, this is Skip," offered the Goddess. "Skip, Fred."

"Charmed," he nodded at her. Leaning half out of the cubicle, he stretched out an arm and drew back with a tall, short-haired blonde dressed in white. She was heavily pregnant.

"Cordelia," Fred murmured, surprised.

Angel’s seer trained wide eyes her way and nodded her head in response, trying to smile. It couldn’t have been easy with her lips sewn shut like that so Fred forgave her for her rather lopsided effort. She watched jealously as Cordelia went right up to the Goddess and sat on her lap. The Goddess rocked her from side to side and played with Cordelia’s fingers and belly. 

"I feel my heartbeat," she laughed, palm pressed to Cordelia’s navel. "It’s like a bell. Soon the whole world will hear." 

Fred sighed happily at that. Cordelia, on the other hand, seemed upset. Tears ran from her wide, staring eyes and her hands fluttered in the air like hummingbirds. Fred certainly couldn’t see what Cordy had to be so upset about. Couldn’t she see how lucky she was?

"Oh, Cordelia sees everything," assured the Goddess. "Whether she wants to or not. She sees it all and can never say a word"

Red-rimmed eyes rolled in their sockets as Fred frowned at her. Having your eyelids cut away seemed like a small price to pay to be held by a Goddess. Some people just don’t have their priorities straight.

Fred backed out of the room so that she could keep the black woman in view as long as possible. It seemed a shame to leave, but—

"’Bout time you got here."

She whirled. "Charles? I thought you were going to stay downstairs."

"Couldn’t. I missed you too much." He patted the sofa next to him, and she went eagerly to be by his side and tell him what she had seen.

"You don’t wear your glasses often enough," he interrupted.

Confused, she stammered out that Lilah may have stolen them.

"S’okay. There's a pair right there." On the table next to her, wire-rimmed glasses sat neatly folded. She picked them up.

"Put them on," he urged.

"But, Charles, these aren’t mine. I think they’re Wesley’s."

"Shhhh," he soothed. "They’re perfect. You’ll see."

She placed them on her nose and was surprised that he was right; she could see just fine. She felt only mild alarm when Charles selected shears from the table beside him and began to cut her long hair. 

"It doesn’t match the glasses, I guess," she offered as she watched long brown locks fall around her.

"Right," he smiled in return. He put the shears down and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, sighing in pleasure as he examined the result. 

He moved in close again for a kiss.

"And your clothes," he murmured against her lips. "Thank you for changing your clothes."

"What?" She glanced down at herself. Her t-shirt and jeans were gone, replaced by pressed trousers and a button-down shirt and tie. "This is what you want, isn’t it?"

"Yes," he moaned, grinding against her. "It’s just what I want. There’s just one thing more."

Climbing off the sofa, he tugged her to her feet. He adjusted her glasses slightly and then placed a thick open book in her hands. 

Gazing at her, he groaned, "You’re perfect."

She dropped the book and ran.

 

**Part III: Secrets and Mysteries**

She ran out the door and into the aquarium, which was fine and good because she liked it so much. 

Taking stock as she walked through the exhibits, she fingered the soft green hem of her t-shirt, and twirled her long hair around her fingers. Silly, really. Hair and clothes are hardly important compared to the fact that she can’t find her favorite exhibit. A left and 140 meters, right ahead 20 meters, left…and there it is.

Angel was chained to a throne in the shark tank. 

Pleased to have finally found him, she cried out his name.

"Fred, hi," he said, unaffected by the water. 

Fred leaned against the glass and asked, "Why are you in the shark tank, Angel? You could be eaten."

"There’s nothing to eat here. I wouldn’t be starving if there were. And I’m safer in here than you are out there."

She frowned at him. "I don’t see how."

He looked up at the sharks swimming above him, and Fred was sorry to see how shrunken his throat was and to see the lesions climbing his cheeks. 

"That tank doesn’t seem to be doing you any good," she told him helpfully. "Maybe you don’t have what it takes to swim with sharks."

"Of course, I don’t," he sounded irritated. "Souls get in the way."

"Plus, they have to keep moving…"

"Right," he agreed. "Souls have to keep moving or they’ll die. I can’t move, obviously."

They were quiet for a moment watching sharks swim over his head. 

"I really want you to come home," she confided quietly. "I want you to come back and take over the office, and your employees, and your son."

"I want that too."

Fred really felt as though she may start crying, if she really thought about it hard. But she was distracted by the burst of cool air against her back, shocking in the terrible heat. Curious, she turned toward the door.

"Fred," Angel called.

"Hmm?" she said absently.

"Sharks can smell a single drop of blood from miles away. So can I, so can he. Be careful."

Connor was in the cool room and it was a shock to see him naked. Really. If the room wasn’t so pleasantly cold and she hadn’t felt so overheated, she would have left immediately. 

But it was and she did, so she joined him in leaning against the cool white wall where the water poured down.

She opened her mouth to drink, but closed it with a sigh of disappointment when she realized the cold shower was sea water. Still, it was such a relief to be someplace cool that she felt almost light-headed. She pressed her cheek against the wall and closed her eyes. 

"It’s not a wall."

Eyes opened and he had moved so close her bare nipples pressed against his chest and she could taste salt water from his lips.

"What is it, then?

"It’s a white cliff."

She looked up and saw it was, in fact, a cliff with no end in sight.

"I hate him," he says in a whisper.

"Who?"

"My father."

"Which one?"

"Spoiled for choice, aren’t I? You decide."

She tried to think of something kind to say, but the room was cool and moist and Connor tasted like salt. Better to listen to the water, and not think.

"You’re gullible."

Her eyes opened, lashes tangling with his. "That’s not a very nice thing to say."

"You are, though."

Cross, she snapped, "No, I’m not."

"Yes. You think Angel is good. You think Holtz was bad."

"He is. He was." She closed her eyes again and their noses touched.

"You think I hate Point Dume," he whispers against her mouth.

"Connor! What have you done?" Her eyes opened with a snap only to find herself alone.

Through the door and onto the beach at Point Dume, and, oh, she knew the answers were here, she just kept missing them. She saw them now, though. A father and son, high on a ridge; a tumble down a steep slope to the beach below; a knife; a stun gun; a horrible betrayal. And over there, pressed against the embankment, watching everything with shining eyes, a Latina vampire.

Marissa.

Fred looked at the shore and saw that Angel and Connor were gone. The other direction showed Marissa rapidly scaling the wall, like a white cliff, toward the lookout point. Fred raced up the hiking path and through the door and into a gray paneled cubicle.

The Owner looked up from behind a desk and asked, "Well, have you found what you’re looking for tonight?"

Epilogue: Realpolitik

She came back to herself. She could feel everything locking back into her psyche with that precious click. 

And she was devastated. Angel at the bottom of the ocean somewhere; Connor, a psychopath; Wesley…Charles.

"It was Connor," she choked out.

"Hmm. Yes. Apparently so."

The demon was not wearing any masks, now. Uncaring, she took in red eyes, mottled flesh, and, oh yes, sharp teeth—like a carnivore—bared in a wide smile.

"We took him in. I’ve loved him and provided for him. His father loves him! How could he do this?" She collapsed into the guest chair and lowered her head to her knees. "Angel, Cordy, oh God, they’re suffering. Wesley…Jesus. And Charles—what am I gonna do about Charles? Lord, I still don’t even know where Marissa is. If she saw the boat, maybe I could track it and find out where they dumped Angel, but….what am I going to do?"

"You’ll make a choice."

She lifted her head and scrubbed at her cheeks. "A choice? A choice about what?"

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front. "A choice about what to remember."

She sat up straight. 

The Owner reached into his drawer and pulled out a slip of paper. Face down, he passed it across the desk but did not let go. "This will lead you to Marissa. Not straight to her, mind you, but to a guy who knows a guy who knows her. Or some such. I’m confident you’ll find her."

She reached across the desk and touched the paper, but he did not let go.

"If you take this paper, you’ll leave here tonight with it and a memory of finding Marissa. You won’t remember Angel, Connor, or anything else you saw tonight."

"What?!"

He continued, "If don’t want to forget everything, you may choose to remember Wesley, Charles and Cordelia, but nothing about Angel and his son, including Marissa."

"But I may never find Angel!"

"To be honest, Fred, that may be true no matter what you choose."

"No matter what I choose, I won’t remember anything about Connor. He’s dangerous! If he could do that to Angel, then—"

"You’re no worse off than before."

"Why do I have to choose?"

He kept his fingers pressed to the slip of paper and smiled again. "It’s all secrets and mysteries in the Fugue State. You have to choose."

Pained, she said quietly, "What’s the point of all this?"

"Needs must be met, my dear."

"Your needs?"

"No."

Exhausted, she reminded him, "You said there was nothing and no one up here."

"Nothing and no one. And it still has to be fed. Choose."

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"Marissa."

He let go of the paper and she pulled it into her palm. 

"Very good, Fred. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?"

***

Fred stumbled down the bright hallway and into the electric cool of the bar.

"Fred! What happened? You’ve been gone for hours." Gunn reached her in one stride and held her tightly. 

"Not much happened," she told him. "It was really hot and kinda swirly, then I saw a vision of Marissa, got an address for her boyfriend, and I was done."

"That’s it? It took a long time."

"Well, that’s it. All hat, no cattle, I guess." She leaned against him and felt him tighten his arms. "Left me with a headache, too." She tipped her head back to smile up at him. "Let’s go home."

He guided her toward the door. "I guess you, me and Connor will start looking for this vamp girl tomorrow."

"Yeah." Fred slipped the boyfriend’s address into her pocket and felt a hard cardboard edge there. She pulled out one of the empty matchbooks she took from Marissa’s beach.

This place is so not worth it, she thought to herself. She tossed it into an ashtray on her way out the door and followed Charles out onto the street.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Firstgold in the Angel Book of Days Summer Challenge. Prompt: Fred, darkness  
> Two restrictions (optional) ~ No fluff.


End file.
